Are you 1 in 100?

Sometimes the losses don't hit us right out of the gate. And not all losses affect us the same way. At least, that's how it was for me. Every single loss had its own identity, so the way I felt them was unique and different each time.

 

My story starts off with my daughter already toddling around, picking up dandelions and drawing with sidewalk chalk. I was lucky and straight up unaware how lucky I was to have her. 

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I was at home with a 13 month old when I found out I was pregnant unexpectedly, and we weren't ready for another child. This was my first pregnancy that ended in miscarriage. The best feeling I can think to describe how I felt with that loss is just "shock." I was shocked to be pregnant, and then shocked that I wasn't anymore. Shock faded to numbness, and then life carried on. 

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I didn't think it would happen again.

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When we were finally in a place to grow our family, I set out with ovulation tracking and was prepared as hell. Because that's how my loss was giving back to me in the moment.... it (felt like it) happened so that I could be this super prepared and responsible mom when it was time. And now it was go time, and I was really excited. 

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So then when I fell pregnant again, I was in a state of bliss. I felt so whole. My husband, daughter, and I went to the beach the next day, where I wrote "BIG SIS" in the sand next to my toddler. I waited as my husband's brain computed what I was trying to tell him, and will never forget the smile he wore once it clicked.

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Then it all fucking ended. 

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That same night, I began to miscarry. 

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The next two years, I tried to heal. The pandemic helped me justify not trying for a baby at the time, but all the justification and therapy in the world couldn't have filled the hole that got ripped from my gut when I experienced my second loss. 

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When we decided to try again, my mental health was actually in the worst state it'd ever been... but my daughter was growing up before my eyes, so I shoved it all to the side to give her the sibling we wanted desperately to have in our lives. 

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Here we go again - pregnant and then not pregnant. The third loss made me collapse in on myself. Why the fuck was my body doing this? I felt like it was never going to happen for me... I was being punished. 

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It wasn't until we got a little help from science that a pregnancy stuck. But I was beaten down. My son's conception didn't come with excitement over two pink lines, a cute announcement to my husband, a feeling of joy or hopefulness of the future. 

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It came with darkness. Cynicism. Disbelief that it would last. I wasn't excited to be pregnant, I was terrified. I didn't tell my family, "We're having a baby!" Instead, I told them, "I'm pregnant right now... we'll see what happens." Pregnancy announcements still triggered me, the baby clothes in Walmart made me nervous. 

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Recurrent loss takes away the joy of pregnancy and replaces it with fear. Because you're 1 in 100, and you know how quickly it could all go away.... because it has - over and over again. 

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With help from an incredible community of PAL (pregnancy after loss) women, I managed my way through that pregnancy and came out on the other side with a second child. 

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Miscarriage changed me. Recurrent miscarriage pummeled me.

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